


Should Have Known

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Communication Failure, Creature Fic, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Disaster Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is also very bad at communicating, Jaskier really dads the fuck out in this one, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampires, it's depressing that there isn't a sassy Geralt tag, sassy Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Jaskier didn't mean to keep it a secret. He thought they talked about it, albeit not in so many words. So when he finds out that Geralt still, after all these years, doesn't know he's a Higher Vampire? Well. He doesn't really know what to do with that.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 62
Kudos: 2297
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Should Have Known

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with my bullshit. I am filling my own prompt, because I don't really have anything better to do. The prompt was "Geralt gets a contract for some vampires stirring up trouble. Instead of Geralt killing them, Jaskier ends up scolding them like he's their dad, and they actually listen. Turns out Jaskier was a higher vampire this whole time". This is vaguely inspired by the House of the Queen of the Night in the first game, where they all call the boss vampire "mummy" and she calls them her daughters. 
> 
> So I didn't actually expect to write it, but then I did anyway. Still can't write titles for shit. Will I ever write human Jaskier? No, probably not. Get ready to hear from me more in the coming days, because it's either this or practise my tin whistle, and my roommate hates my tin whistle.

Jaskier could make fun of his Witcher all he wanted — and he did, of course — but he would hardly accuse the man of being stupid. Witchers needed their wits to survive, and Geralt had been surviving for quite a while before they met in that small, dingy tavern in Posada. And while he wasn’t the most in-tune with his own emotions, often going as far as to claim he didn’t have them (and really, what a ridiculous claim; one hardly needed to know the man for ten minutes, let alone as long as they’ve known each other, to see how untrue it was), and he was admittedly _terrible_ at interpersonal relationships, he was very perceptive. He could smell emotions, for Melitele’s sake. He knew when a farmer was afraid of him, or some brazen lass was trying to lure him into bed, or a clerk was trying to cheat him out of his well-earned coin. 

And, yes, he wasn’t so great at interpersonal relationships, as previously stated, but Jaskier thought that was just because no one ever really put in the time and effort to get to know him. It was a damn shame, really — Geralt was sharp as a tack, and his dry wit left Jaskier wheezing more often than he’d like to admit. They could banter like it was rehearsed, neither missing a beat, nor overstepping their bounds. When they were in public, and Geralt spoke mostly in hums and grunts and growls, well, Jaskier had gotten to be a master at that specific language. By this point, he knew that it was not that Geralt was some dumb brute (though it was one of his favourite insults to throw about), but that his sharp tongue would get him into trouble if he let it. 

He was surprisingly attentive to Jaskier’s needs, as well. Jaskier wasn’t _weak_ by any means, of course, but he _was_ a creature of comfort, of luxury. He’d allowed himself to enjoy the finer things for maybe a bit too long, gotten used to certain things. He’d roughed it before, of course — what bard hadn’t? Well, what _good_ bard, anyway, because sods like Valdo fucking Marx hardly counted. 

Regardless. 

If they had been walking for a while, (read: if _Jaskier_ had been walking whilst Geralt rode) Geralt would find a reason to stop, and while at first Jaskier thought that he was just as eager to rest, or feed Roach, or take a piss, or any other number of things that he decided they had to stop for, he’d quickly found out that it was actually with Jaskier’s comfort in mind. Geralt, when traveling alone, would endure far longer stretches on the road than he allowed when Jaskier accompanied him. 

Jaskier found this out, of course, because he overheard Geralt telling Roach when he thought the bard couldn’t hear. 

And yes, perhaps at first he was a _little_ put out that Geralt seemed to value the conversational skills of his _horse_ more than Jaskier himself, but… the kindness, the consideration, it was touching. Even if he didn’t necessarily _need_ it, could go much longer without a rest, he was never one to deny himself a moment of comfort. Geralt, more likely than not, knew that about him, and Jaskier decided he’d rather not embarrass the other by doing something as silly as bringing it up.

It took a little longer for him to figure out that the little frowns he sent Jaskier’s way were more assessments than judgments; that is to say, he wasn’t frowning _at_ Jaskier, but trying to figure out how he was doing. And it would be a little offensive, the assumption that someone like him couldn’t handle life on the road, but… again, the kindness of it was almost overwhelming. It warmed his heart. 

So he said nothing.

Geralt made sure that Jaskier ate regular meals, giving the bard an attentiveness that he didn’t afford to his own needs. Jaskier didn’t even need to eat that much, really, but it was an excuse for _him_ to do the same for Geralt, so he let it go. Geralt would make sure that they could stop in towns as often as possible, not just for contracts, but so Jaskier could play for coin and company. He paid attention to Jaskier’s wants more than Jaskier suspected he ever had to his own, and Jaskier tried to do the same for him in return, but it was difficult at first to suss out the wants of someone who had spent so long trying to want nothing. 

Instead, he’d decided to be the devil on the Witcher’s shoulder, so to speak. He tempted him to all manner of luxury, carefully watched his reactions to everything. Geralt would appear irritated no matter what, he knew, but the Witcher had certain tells that Jaskier learned to look for. If there was something he wanted, he would look away from it after a short glance. If something pleased him, he’d have the tiniest smirk when he thought no one was looking. Even his denials were not always denials: there was a specific level of arguing against something that let Jaskier know that it was actually what he wanted. When something displeased him, his brow furrowed. When he didn’t trust something, or didn’t think he was getting the full story, he squinted ever-so-slightly. Yes, if one took the time to learn Geralt’s tells, one would find that he was almost as expressive as Jaskier himself.

Learning to read Geralt was like teaching oneself to read any language: it was exhausting, it made one’s head hurt, it was discouraging at first; but there was no greater reward once it had finally been mastered. 

And of course, Geralt could be thicker than a peasant’s gruel, sometimes. Anyone could, but it always surprised him, just a little, when Geralt didn’t notice something or did something exceptionally stupid. A prime example, of course, was when Jaskier had to physically tell the man that he wasn’t aging. One would think that he would have noticed that sort of thing, but in retrospect, Geralt didn’t spend much time with others. The poor sod had probably assumed Jaskier was human, and if he wasn’t a Witcher it wouldn’t have been so fucking laughable.

“I’m not going to die on you, Geralt,” Jaskier had said. He didn’t even remember what prompted it, but he remembered the frown that pulled at Geralt’s lips, the way his brow furrowed and his eyes squinted as if Jaskier was _lying_ to him.

“You will, though,” he’d insisted. “One day you’ll have to stop coming with me. You’ll grow old. And then…”

Jaskier had barked out a surprised laugh. “You’re serious?” he’d asked, incredulous.

“Mind telling me what’s so funny about this?” Geralt had growled, and Jaskier had shaken his head, though he couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice.

“Geralt, darling, how long have we known each other?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

Jaskier had sighed, crossed his arms, and stared, unflinchingly as he always did, into Geralt’s yellow eyes. “We’ve known each other for decades, and in all that time, have I aged a day?”

“...No.”

“There you go!” Jaskier had said brightly. “Really, I would have expected you to _notice_ , but I suppose when two people travel together it’s more difficult to notice differences — or lack thereof — than friends who only occasionally meet.”

If Geralt was going to respond, Jaskier hadn’t given him the opportunity, because there really wasn’t anything more to say on the subject. He wasn’t reaching for his sword, and anyway, even if he _had_ killed Jaskier, it wouldn’t have _stuck_ , so he just prattled on about something else, and that had been that.

It turned out that Jaskier’s perceived mortality was Geralt’s only hangup in regards to starting a relationship, which was, well, _fucking thrilling_ actually. Jaskier had harboured a bit of a… well, actually, a blinding and all-encompassing love for his companion for years, and thought that Geralt simply did not reciprocate. He saw the glances, of course, felt the tension, but… well, he had always taken it as a sort of star-crossed, “what I am and what you are are not compatible” sort of thing. It was actually a relief to know that the brute had only thought him human, and worried about what that meant in regards to the end.

So, Jaskier knew Geralt better than he had ever known anyone. Geralt, (at least, he had thought) knew him in much the same way. They were close, even before they had become lovers, and it made him feel warm. 

Imagine his shock, then, when he found out that Geralt was the biggest fucking idiot he’d ever met.

They’d just stopped in a town, not quite a city but not quite a little farming village, either. The townsfolk had barely balked at him before one had come up and all but begged him to solve their monster problem, so Jaskier figured it was quite serious this time. 

It wasn’t, really.

Okay, okay — it was a big deal to the humans, obviously, but to him, it was absolutely nothing, and he felt confident that Geralt would finally let him come along this time.

As it turned out, the town had been plagued, each full moon, by vampires. They dragged people off, no one was safe, yadda yadda. For their sake, Jaskier tried to look interested, or concerned, at the very least, but fuck, it literally sounded to him like children misbehaving. Misbehaving in a way that cost lives, yes, but one could hardly blame them; it was all down to the parents, really.

“So,” he’d said as Geralt tied Roach up at the stables, “are we going now, or waiting for the moon to rise?”

Geralt had frowned and, without hesitation, said, “You’re not coming with me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said you’re not coming, Jaskier.”

“Why not!?” he’d balked, genuinely surprised and a little hurt that Geralt apparently thought so little of him.

“Ignoring the fact that we don’t even know what kind of vampires they _are_ , all vampires are dangerous,” Geralt had explained, and it was all _very_ condescending, except—

Wait.

Oh, fuck no.

Jaskier knew that he was an expressive person. Sure, he could act with the best of them — one had to have at least _some_ acting skill, as a bard _and_ a higher vampire. At least, the latter needed some acting skill if they desired to live amongst humans, which Jaskier very much did, thank you. Regardless, while he _could_ act, and hide his emotions, he didn’t _always_. In this moment, he had felt such a wide variety of things in such a short amount of time, that it made his fucking head spin, and he was sure that each and every one of those things flitted across his face as they passed through him.

Confusion, then irritation, then anger, then confusion again, then shock, then disbelief, and then a sort of… nothing. 

Geralt still fucking thought he was human.

Maybe not human, but he didn’t _know_ , and Jaskier had no idea what to do with that. He was always the first to sing the White Wolf’s praises as well as the first to tell him he was a fucking idiot, but in this instance, he couldn’t do the latter because… Geralt didn’t know. He didn’t fucking know, how could he not know? 

And if Geralt found out now, what would that mean? What would that _do_? Would it end their relationship? Would Geralt think he couldn’t be trusted, having kept a secret that he _didn’t even know he was fucking keeping_? 

A lot more made sense now, at least. All the stops they took weren’t idle luxury, but viewed as a necessity for what must have been aching human feet. All the meals that Geralt insisted he take, well, a human probably had to eat that much. Admittedly, Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure. The stops in towns likely had nothing to do with Jaskier letting loose and getting a little blood in him (unnecessary but always appreciated, thank you very much) because Geralt, the big fucking idiot, had no clue that Jaskier even _could_ drink blood.

All those times that he had been drunk on it, Geralt must have thought it was liquor. Jaskier assumed he would be able to smell it but maybe the scents of the inn, or the perfumes he liked, or the wines he drank simply because he enjoyed the taste, or any number of things covered that.

Jaskier finally became aware of the fact that Geralt had been saying his name when the other shook his shoulder, a little roughly but now Jaskier knew for a _fact_ that he was holding back and… 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I’m a bit tired from the road.”

Geralt hummed, nodded, and squinted just a little, but he dropped it. 

Still, there was the matter of their— Geralt’s contract. Jaskier really did not want this to end in any deaths if he could help it, and he absolutely _could_ , he was sure of it, but how could he get to the vampires before Geralt? How could he even attempt it without tipping the other off? And there was no guarantee that the vampires would be there before sunset the day of, though if his own youth was anything to go by, they would probably get to their little party site just before the sun went down the night before… depending on what kind of vampires they were, of course. At least Geralt had gotten that bit right.

He needed to think. He needed to think without letting Geralt know that he was thinking, or at the very least what he was thinking about. He absolutely was not in the mood to chatter like he normally did but if he didn’t, would Geralt know, or would he think that Jaskier was simply upset with him for being denied to come along? Would that be too out of character for him? He often pouted when told to stay behind, but rarely gave Geralt the silent treatment over it — or over anything, for that matter. 

“Inspiration has struck!” he said suddenly, hitting his palm with his fist. “I must grab my lute, my songbook — oh, Geralt, darling, let me get the room, I’ll have need of it for some time.” 

He felt the tension start to bleed from the man beside him, and mentally gave himself a pat on the back. Just act like nothing happened, he thought, and he would have time to think. So, he negotiated a price with the innkeeper fairly quickly, and raced up to their room. If the innkeeper thought it odd that they shared, he didn’t say it — and whether it was because he was afraid of the Witcher, or it was normal for traveling companions to board together to save on coin, or he truly just didn’t give a toss, it didn’t matter one whit to Jaskier. 

He sat himself on the bed and strummed idly, humming to himself. If Geralt came in, he couldn’t look like he wasn’t doing what he’d said he would, and he’d been playing long enough that he didn’t actually need to think about what his fingers were doing. 

It didn’t take long before he came up with a plan. Granted, it wasn’t the _best_ plan, but he didn’t really have time to come up with a better one. Of course they came to the town the day before the full moon, and if he still knew anything about the young ones (which he hoped he did, because he really didn’t want to feel his age), they would want to get there early to… he was pretty sure they called it “pre-game” now. If he knew Geralt, he was going to start searching as soon as possible, so that gave him pretty much no time.

His plan wasn’t great, but here it was: leave immediately. Escape through the window, sniff out the younglings (he assumed they were young, because one didn’t really get a chance to grow old with this sort of reckless behaviour), tell them to fucking knock it off, and hopefully be back before Geralt noticed he was gone. 

Higher vampires had some powers in common, but each had their own unique abilities. Jaskier’s voice could take a hypnotic element, if he let it (he rarely did, as it felt rather like cheating), and his bite could give pleasure — he’d more than once brought a lover over the edge with his fangs alone, and simply used his voice to suggest they forget about what he was afterwards. He didn’t need it to be common knowledge, after all. The power that would do him the most good, though, was his speed; Jaskier could be _very_ fast, and was more than prepared to use it to his advantage.

Jaskier played one more chord, as if for luck, and set his lute on the bed. This would either go very well or very poorly, but either way, he’d come back to the inn. Trying not to think about anything but finding these stupid, reckless vampires, he opened the window, and dropped out.

To his frustration, Jaskier spent more time than he thought he would just searching. The densely wooded area around the town wasn’t really optimal for running; he’d smacked into one tree before deciding that he would have to take this at a human pace. So much for getting back before Geralt noticed, he thought wryly. 

At least they weren’t _entirely_ stupid, he mused — or they were, and he was just getting old. Still, hiding in the forest wasn’t the stupidest thing they could have done, so at least there was that. He was, of course, assuming that he would find vampires capable of reason — perhaps Bruxae? If he was lucky, they would know the Common tongue, as well, since he hadn’t really spoken the Vampire language in… well, longer than he cared to admit, frankly.

It was during his distraction that he came across them, ironically. Three Alps in a clearing, giggling and chatting, though they stopped when they saw him approach. Jaskier brushed the twigs and leaves out of his hair and fixed them with the sternest expression he could, before something clicked. 

He _knew_ these girls. 

“Ada, Danika, Anita!” he chided immediately. “Melitele’s tits, what do you girls think you’re doing?”

The three of them looked shocked, and then cowed, and he was privately a little proud that he could still garner that reaction. 

“I haven’t seen you three for _decades_ , and I come here with a friend and find out that _you_ are the ones he’s been hired to kill?” he continued. “Do you know that they hired a Witcher because of you?”

“We’re sorry, Uncle Julian,” Ada said, eyes downcast. Anita looked a bit petulant at being scolded by her elder, but Danika looked scared out of her mind. 

“Don’t apologise to _me_ ,” he said, “apologise to the villagers you’ve been tormenting. Really, the same town every month, have you gone mad? It’s like you _want_ to get caught!”

“We didn’t think—” Anita said, and Jaskier rounded on her.

“Clearly you didn’t, or none of us would be here. What would your _mother_ think if something happened to you because you were so _careless_?”

“Please don’t tell mama,” Danika pleaded, eyes wide and watery. 

“Danika, it’s a bit late for that,” he told her. “I either take you home now and tell your mother what’s been going on, and you deal with _her_ wrath, or I let it go and all but sacrifice you three to a Witcher!”

“You mean the one behind you?” Anita snarked, and Jaskier would have admired that rebellious attitude of hers under any other circumstances, but—

“Oh. Hello, Geralt,” he said weakly.

Well. Fuck.

“Jaskier,” the Witcher rumbled, silver blade in hand, golden eyes narrowed to slits. Well, this wasn’t ideal. “Friends of yours?”

“Ah. Well. I’m acquainted with their sire,” he answered carefully. 

“Hmm.”

After all their time together, Jaskier had to admit that he didn’t really know how to read _that_ hum, though it could just be because he was currently _freaking the fuck out_ , thank you very much.

“I believe I told you to stay at the inn,” Geralt said, after a moment.

“Yes, well,” Jaskier faltered, then squared up against the bigger man. Even if Geralt wanted to hurt him, he really couldn’t — not in a permanent way, at least. “I could hardly let you just go off and fight fire with fire, as it were. Kids will be kids, as they say, and I think a little scolding is a much better learning experience than being _beheaded_.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said again, and if Jaskier didn’t know better (and at this point, actually, he wasn’t sure he did) he would have said that _that_ particular hum sounded amused. “And what shall I tell the townsfolk?”

“That the vampires didn’t show up this time? That they put up such a fight that there were no remains to bring back as proof? Perhaps ask one of these young ladies for a lock of hair as proof of their demise, and claim that it was all you could recover from the site of a truly epic battle?” Jaskier offered. “You have options.”

“And how do I know they won’t be back next month?” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised, though this was more directed at the three Alps behind Jaskier. 

“After I speak with their mother, I’ll be surprised if they’re allowed out of the house for the next _century_ ,” Jaskier answered in their stead, though this, too, was more directed at the three girls behind him. If it were possible for someone whose skin was milky-white to begin with, he would have said that they grew even paler at that.

“Fuck, he’s really gonna tell mama,” one of the girls said, but he was more focused on Geralt. The two men stared at each other, each daring the other to back down. Finally, thankfully, Geralt apparently saw something in Jaskier’s face that he had been looking for, because he nodded. “Alright,” he said, “who’s getting a haircut?”

Jaskier stifled a laugh behind his hand and turned to the girls. “Well? Who’s going to take one for the team?” he asked, tone forcefully jovial. 

Ada — she always had been the most responsible, bless her — stepped forward, and Geralt took a lock of her hair. Jaskier insisted that Geralt come with them, ostensibly to really drive home the point of just how dangerous their actions were, what consequences could have befallen them had he not happened to intervene, but also… well, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t also concerned that Geralt would leave before he got back, and he didn’t think he could bear that.

Eventually, they made it to the girls’ home, and their mother was absolutely _livid_. Jaskier certainly did not envy them. He brushed off his old friend’s offer to come in and catch up, stealing a meaningful glance at Geralt, and she seemed to understand. It wasn’t as if they were pressed for time.

The way back to the inn was silent, Jaskier not knowing how to fill it for once. 

Another surprise, as if the day needed _more_ of those, came when Geralt was the one to break the silence. “You hide it well.”

Jaskier actually laughed, startled. “No, Geralt, I don’t,” he said. “Not from you.” He shook his head. “I never tried to hide it, I… I thought you knew.”

“Hmm.”

“Please, if you’re going to speak in grunts, I’ll revert to my own language as well,” Jaskier insisted. “My nerves are far too frazzled after all of this to try to parse out the Geralt-ian tongue, and I very much doubt that Vampire is one of the languages you’ve picked up over the years.”

Geralt sighed. “I suppose I should have noticed.”

“Yes, I rather suppose the same.”

It was silent again.

“I didn’t want to keep it from you,” Jaskier insisted again. “I didn’t even know I was keeping a secret until this morning. I thought we already _had_ this conversation!”

Geralt frowned at him, a confused look that Jaskier rarely saw on him anymore. “When the fuck did this supposedly happen?”

“When I told you I don’t age!” Jaskier threw his hands into the air, dramatic even in his exasperation. “You can’t honestly tell me you thought I was human, still?”

With a self-conscious shrug, Geralt said, “Well, I thought you might be part elf. Or there was magic involved. Forgive me for not jumping to ‘one of the rarest creatures on the continent’ as my first conclusion.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but it was fond now. “Yes, well, I suppose I could have been more overt with it. I literally came back to our room drunk on blood how many times, though.”

“If I smelled blood, I assumed it was from the fistfighters in the bar,” Geralt said, and Jaskier groaned. 

“I have never, in my frankly _extensive_ lifetime, met a couple with worse communication skills,” he insisted, and Geralt snorted out something of a laugh.

“We’ve got time to work on it, though,” he hummed, and Jaskier beamed at him with a smile like the sun.

“Yes, I suppose we do.”


End file.
